


Hammurabi

by panademonium



Category: Breaking Bad
Genre: Betrayal, Conspiracy, F/M, Gen, Manipulation, Murder, Suicidal Ideation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-15
Updated: 2017-01-15
Packaged: 2018-09-17 13:57:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9327953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/panademonium/pseuds/panademonium
Summary: Skyler turns Walt's most beloved possession against him.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lateralus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lateralus/gifts).



She's afraid, Jesse realizes.

He's not entirely sure what gives it away. He can hardly see her through the shadows. She's mostly silhouetted against the backlight of the garage, and what he can see of her face is carefully controlled. Hardened like stone. Or steel. She's made a mask of her face, because Mr. White is there, but there is something in her eyes that gets through to Jesse.

Fear. And not sympathy, exactly, but camaraderie. The sense that he and she are both in the same position. And something else.

He thinks she might be pleading with him.

But then she's turning away and he doesn't know whether he imagined it or not. He doesn't know if he could really see her face at all. He doesn't know why she'd look like that, or why she'd look at him like that, or what she might have wanted from him in that moment except— 

_Vamonos._

_I wish._

"Jesse, are you coming?"

His heart leaps into his throat as he turns back toward the truck. "Y-Yeah. Sorry, Mr. White."

—

Ever since the dinner, Jesse Pinkman had become a regular topic of discussion. One-sided discussion, rather. The topic of Walt's loving soliloquies, the subject of sonnets about loyalty and tragic flaws. Jesse was everything Skyler failed to be. He was faithful. He was eager to please. Despite all his pain and all the outside forces tempting him to stray, he remained by Walt's side and never doubted him. The moral, of course, was this: Why could Skyler not do the same?

About a week later, Walt abruptly stopped speaking Jesse's name.

Skyler has been listening for it since she noticed its absence. Long, moody silences have replaced all of Walt's praise for Jesse, and Skyler navigates around that silence with the sense that she's handling a bomb. One false step and it all blows up.

Something has caused a rift between them, obviously. A mere disagreement, she'd assumed, until now. Now she's doing the laundry and she finds specks of blood mottling the fabric of Walt's beige jacket. Her stomach turns and she thinks of the boy who sat at her dinner table not two weeks ago and she ends up vomiting into a spare mop bucket next to the washing machine.

She burns the jacket in the barbecue grill outside. Then she dials Jesse Pinkman's phone number.

It's been disconnected.

—

Jesse turns the gun around and around between his hands, his thoughts turning with it. Mike is dead and Walt killed him. Saul didn't come out and say it, either out of mercy or cowardice, but Jesse gets it. Only he doesn't know what to do with the information now that he has it. The gun, he thinks, is meant to be used on Walt. _Meant_ to. That's the most cowardly part of Saul's visit. This wasn't a simple gift, a word of caution, and a blessing for good luck and good health. Even Jesse knows that Saul was planting a seed, hoping for someone else to take care of a problem for him. Walt, of course, being the problem.

Experimentally, Jesse lifts the gun and points the barrel at his temple. Then he remembers something he saw on a documentary once and repositions his hand so that the gun's pointing at the lower back of his head. That's the part that houses the nervous system and vital functions. A better place to aim than the temple.

It's lucky his finger's not on the trigger at that moment, because a sudden knock at the door makes him jump, and his hold on the gun is so unsteady that he nearly drops it. Heart leaping into his throat, he hisses out a curse and practically slams the gun onto the coffee table before scrambling to his feet. With a cold sweat breaking out on his skin, he creeps over to the window and peeks out past the sheer curtains.

It's Mrs. White.

He blinks hard.

Yeah, it's Mrs. White.

Jesse doesn't understand it, but he also doesn't think Mr. White would send his own wife to play assassin, so he walks to the door and slowly unlocks it with shaking hands. What the fuck is she doing here? Seriously, what the fuck?

He opens the door just a crack, his face half-obscured by it. "Uh, hey?"

The sun's too bright outside, and it's setting her blonde hair alight like a shining gold halo and making her something painful to behold. Or maybe he's still high. Or maybe everything's too much anymore. Her face is somehow in shadow, and he's having trouble seeing her expression even though she's only a few inches away. "You're alive," she says, as if that surprises her.

Jesse doesn't know how to take that. "What?" Is he not supposed to be?

She looks over her shoulder, toward the street, and Jesse leans over to look with her. He doesn't see anything unusual out there. He looks back at her, and she looks back at him. "Can I come in?"

Jesse squints like he doesn't understand the question, but a moment later he steps aside and pulls the door open wide to make way for her. She's wearing cream-colored heels and it makes her seem like she's a full foot taller than him. He shrinks back against the door as he shuts it behind her. "Mrs. White—"

"Skyler," she corrects sharply.

"Skyler," he repeats, cowed, and now he's forgotten what he was going to say.

She doesn't seem to care. She's looking around the living room, assessing the state of it. Moldy pizza boxes, discarded clothes, dozens of empty beer bottles, and of course the drugs and paraphernalia scattered on the coffee table. The gun, however, is where her gaze settles.

"Have you been waiting for him?" she asks.

"What?" Jesse replies again. None of this makes sense. Maybe he's still high.

She looks at him. At his eyes, specifically. "You're high," she notes.

Confirmed. He nods, believing her.

"When's the last time you slept?"

He squints again, thinking. "Like a for-real sleep?" Because it comes and goes lately. Sleep and the days in between. He drifts around the house halfway in and halfway out of sleep.

That's enough of an answer for her. She reaches for him, her hand sliding up his arm until she has him by the elbow and she's urging him to follow her. "You have a bed upstairs, right?"

"That's where beds usually go," he mumbles, too weak to be properly sarcastic.

"Come on." She leads him up the stairs and he goes without argument, shuffling steps until they're in his room and he realizes with mild embarrassment that it's in a disgusting sort of state. She doesn't seem to notice or mind. Her hand is on his shoulder now and she's pushing him down until he's sitting on the edge of the bed.

"Is he going to kill me?" Jesse asks abruptly.

"I don't know," Skyler answers. "We'll talk after you sleep it off."

He has the feeling she wants him to lie down, but he doesn't. "I can't," he says. "I can't sleep." It's not like he hasn't tried. Her being here isn't going to fix that. If anything, he's feeling more awake than he has in a long time. His heart's still pounding. His head is buzzing. Is he going to die today? Or tomorrow? Jesus, why is she _here?_

"Jesse," she says. Her palm is against his cheek now, and he missed the moment she put it there. She eases his head up, directing his gaze to her eyes. She's bowed closer so he can see them. "I need you to stay with me, here."

"Why?" His voice breaks when he asks the question. What's the point in talking to him if she thinks Mr. White's coming for him?

Her hand moves, stroking his cheek with a tenderness he didn't even know she was capable of. It's weirdly comforting, considering she hates him. It's also weirdly arousing, probably because he's high. He inhales sharply and shifts a bit, hoping she doesn't notice what it's doing to him. He thinks she notices, anyway. Her fingernail traces the cup of his ear, as if she'd be tucking his hair back if he had enough of it to comb her fingers through. "I'm going to keep you safe," she tells him, "and then you're going to keep me safe."

He's not sure what that means, but his eyes flutter shut and the buzzing in his head is getting worse instead of better. His face feels hot. "I don't understand," he mumbles helplessly.

"That's okay," she says. Her voice is closer now and he feels her breath on his skin a second before he realizes her lips are closing over his. She kisses him like he's something she wants only a small taste of, or like she's testing the water before diving in.

He's dreaming, he thinks. This is a dream. He's fallen asleep on the futon downstairs, probably with the gun in his hand.

Jesse opens his eyes, but he can't see her for all the blonde curls spilling around her face and grazing his cheeks. Her lips touch his again, and this time he returns the kiss. Reluctant, restrained, but it's not such a bad dream to have. Her mouth is soft and warm. If he lets himself forget his life for a moment, he could feel safe here, with her.

The kiss is over far too soon. "Sleep," she urges, her hand pressing to his chest and slowly pushing him back onto the mattress. "I'll be here when you wake up."

—

When Jesse wakes, he's surprised to find himself in bed and not in the living room. He can't remember how he got up here, only vague flashes of moments he believes to be remnants of a dream. Brushing them away with a sweep of his palm over his groggy eyes, he drags himself out of bed and shuffles toward the stairs.

He doesn't notice Skyler until he's nearly walked right by her. She's seated on the futon, her cheek resting on her knuckles and her eyes fixed on him.

"What the hell?" Jesse breathes, freezing in place.

"You're awake," Skyler notes. "Sixteen hours later. I'm impressed."

Her lips grazing his skin. _I'm going to keep you safe._ "Oh my god."

She seems to understand the realization he's just come to, leaning forward to rest her elbows on her knees. "Do you need a moment?"

Jesse holds his palm out to her, pleading for silence. Yes, he does need a moment, to sort through all these fragments. She was here to tell him about his impending doom or something. (Did he only imagine her kiss?)

"Tell me again," he says to her. "Why—"

"We're the same thing," she interrupts, answering the question before he asks it. "He's got us trapped, doesn't he? Me, you. You say one word against him and you're next on the chopping block. I can't tell you how many times in the past three months I've thought he would honestly murder me. You've seen it, too, haven't you? The look he gets."

Jesse has seen it. He saw it moments before Mr. White left to bring Mike his go-bag. Sometimes Jesse thinks Mike died solely because Jesse loved him. Jesse has never been allowed to love anyone without Mr. White's permission.

Skyler watches him with something like sympathy, like she did those weeks ago at the car wash. It's a weird expression to see on her face, and Jesse averts his eyes. "Is this a pep talk?" he asks, his voice low and rough. "Are you here to ask me to kill him, too?"

"Somebody else was here?" she asks, genuinely surprised.

Jesse evades the question, waving dismissively at the air. "Look… I don't know what you think I do or who I am, but I don't just go around killing people. This isn't a movie."

"I'm not asking you to be a hitman," Skyler says. "I'm here to ask you if you want to get back at him for everything he's done to you."

"What's the difference?"

"Everything." Skyler rises to her feet, stepping up to Jesse, her eyes burning with the fever of terror or bloodlust. Jesse can't tell. "I've been suffering since he started this whole thing. Haven't _you?_ You're the only other person who was there. By his side. Didn't he take it out on you, too?"

He did, yes. Jesse swallows, giving the slightest nod. Every bruise, every broken bone, every drop of innocent blood on his hands… Walter White had inflicted those things upon him. He had fucking done this to Jesse, and now Jesse's here, alone and broken and waiting to die.

"You don't have to turn the other cheek," Skyler says, reaching out to touch his arm. A memory returns to him, her hand on his elbow as she led him up the stairs.

Jesse meets her eyes, wavering. "Do you have a plan or something?"

—

In the end, Walt is a feeble old man.

While Jesse isn't the most strapping of fighters, he's young enough and spry enough to take down Walt with only a few blows to the back of the head. Once they've relocated to the Indian reservation outside town, there's really nothing left to stop them. Skyler isn't surprised that Walt never thought so far ahead as to assign himself a bodyguard. He always foolishly believed in his own invincibility.

Jesse looks distressed as he drags Walt's unconscious body from the Chrysler and deposits him in the dusty red dirt. When he turns his eyes to Skyler, they're shimmering with tears. He's such an unexpectedly earnest boy.

"You're alright," she assures him. "You don't have to do anything else if you don't want to."

"Is he dead?" Jesse asks, his voice tight with horror despite knowing the entire purpose of bringing Walt here was to kill him.

Skyler kneels beside the body, draping her hand close to Walt's nose. "He's breathing," she says.

She can't make out Jesse's next words, because they're muffled into his hands as he cradles his face. She'd misjudged him, she realizes. He's still only a boy. "Climb up that cliff, Jesse," she says, indicating the red rock jutting out of the ground a dozen yards away. "Keep a lookout for patrol cars."

He may or may not realize why she's sending him away. He takes the opportunity, regardless. With one final, reluctant look at Walt's body, Jesse tears himself away and scrambles up the cliffside, disappearing over it.

Walt's face is streaked with blood. Head wounds bleed so dramatically. It's no wonder Jesse thought he might already be dead. Skyler reaches down to caress his weathered cheek. "We're going to survive you," she tells Walt. She can't guess whether he hears her or not.

The gunshot echoes like thunder through the desert.

—

"I don't understand why it means you gotta leave," Jesse protests weakly, the words cracked and shaky.

"Because of the Code of Hammurabi," Skyler explains, short and dry.

"What?"

She sets a folded shirt aside, pausing in her packing, and turns from the suitcase to face Jesse. "Because a man's debt falls to his family in the event of his death." Killing a powerful drug kingpin was never going to be as simple as _just_ killing him. The real consequences would come once those dependent on his money came to realize their revenue stream had suddenly dried up.

Jesse sinks onto the edge of her bed, and with a shiver, he realizes that this was Mr. White's bed, too. Until yesterday. He rubs at his red-rimmed eyes as he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirrored closet doors. "Why'd you need me at all?" Jesse asks her. "If you were gonna do it like that. Just a shot to the head like that. I thought it was gonna be…"

When he doesn't finish the sentence, Skyler asks, "Did you really want him to suffer?"

Jesse swallows, his throat dry. That isn't what he meant. He doesn't know what he meant.

"I was afraid to do it alone," she says, to answer his question. "Every other time I've thought about it, I was always alone. I knew I couldn't do it without you."

"So that's it," Jesse utters hollowly. "You just showed up at my house for, I dunno, fucking moral support. For murder. And now we did it and you're leaving and I get to go back there and wait for some other guy to show up and kill me." His lip trembles, his accusing eyes returning to her. "No. I'm your fall guy, ain't I?"

Skyler says nothing, standing over him and holding his steady gaze.

Jesse nods, knowing. "I'm your fall guy," he repeats.

"My son will be home soon," she reminds Jesse. It isn't true, but she doesn't want Jesse to believe he's free to commit another murder right here, where the children might see it.

Jesse _knows_ it isn't true. "You sent the kids away," he says. "Mr. White told me."

"Walt isn't here anymore, is he?" Skyler replies calmly.

"I'm not gonna hurt you," Jesse sighs, defeated. She doesn't have to fabricate some scenario just for him. "Somebody's already waiting for me at my house, right? One of Saul's people."

Skyler clearly has no intention of laying out her plan for him. She goes back to folding clothes.

"My prints on the steering wheel," Jesse realizes aloud. "My prints on the gun."

"It's all in place already," she says, meaning there isn't any changing it now.

"And you just ride off into the sunset," he marvels.

Skyler glances back at him. "And I just ride off into the sunset."

Jesse folds his hands, his thumb rubbing over his knuckle. He shuts his eyes and draws in a breath, and behind his eyelids, he sees Mr. White lying in the sand with a burst of red around his head like a bloody halo. They might even end up sharing the same shallow grave.

He feels Skyler's hand on his cheek and he opens his eyes to return his miserable gaze to her.

Her fingertip tracing his lower lip, she says, "I saw you point that gun at your head."

Jesse leans his cheek into her palm. Something is broken in him. He thinks his heart should be aching, but it's anesthetized. Of course he ends like this. He wasn't without his own debts.

"The sooner you go," she promises, "the sooner it's over."


End file.
